In the Shadow of the Arch Page 2

  "Thanks," Joyce said, taking them.

  "Any sign of the captain?" Keough asked.

  "He's on his way in."

  "Bring him in as soon as he gets here, will you?"

  "Yes, sir."

  The officer withdrew as Joyce opened the cookies and gave the boy one.

  "Brady?" Keough asked.

  "Yeth?" he said, with a mouthful of cookie.

  "Do you know where you live?"

  "Yeth."

  "Where?"

  The boy started to swing his feet and drops of blood flew from them, narrowly missing Keough. He put his hand on the boy's knees to stop him gently.

  "In a houth."

  "A house?"

  The boy nodded.

  "Yeth."

  He pushed the rest of the cookie into his mouth and looked at Joyce, extending his hand.

  "Swallow what you have first, Brady, and have a sip of milk," Joyce said. "Then after you answer Joe's questions you can have another cookie."

  The boy chewed and chewed with great concentration, then Joyce gave him a drink. He wiped off the milk mustache with the back of his right hand.

  "Do you know where your; house is, Brady?"

  "Yes."

  "Where?"

  The boy pointed, his index finger slightly bowed.

  "Where are you pointing to, Brady?"

  "My house," the boy said, reasonably.

  "Do you know the address of your house?"

  The boy looked confused.

  "The number on your house, Brady," Joyce said, helpfully. "Do you know the number on your house?"

  "No," he said, shaking his head.

  "What about the street?" Keough asked. "Do you know the name of the street you live on?"

  The boy nodded.

  "What is it?"

  "It's Wise Street."

  "Where is that?" Keough asked Joyce.

  "A couple of blocks from here."

  "We'll have to do a house to house."

  "Maybe not," she said. "Brady, what color is your house?"

  He pushed at his nose with his palm, flattening it momentarily, and then said, "Yellow."

  Keough looked around. There was a yellow lined pad on the other end of the table. He grabbed it.

  "Brady, look at this, then look at my shirt and at Joyce. Point to the color yellow."

  Keough's shirt was blue, and Joyce's blouse orange.

  The boy touched the yellow pad with one finger, then looked at Joyce and asked, "Cookie?"

  Joyce looked at Keough, who nodded, and she gave the boy another cookie.

  This time when the door opened, the uniformed officer was wearing captain's bars.

  "What have we got?" the man asked.

  "I'll tell you outside," Keough said, and left the boy with Joyce to step out of the room with the captain.

  3

  "Detective Joe Keough," Keough said to the captain when they were outside the kitchen.

  "Captain Frank Bose, Watch Commander," the other man said, extending his hand. This was something else Keough was going to have to get used to. "First day, huh?"

  "That's right."

  "How'd you get stuck with this?"

  "I walked into it."

  "Lucky you. Run it down for me."

  Keough did, quickly.

  Bose listened intently and did not interrupt. He had intelligent eyes. He was in his fifties, with slate gray hair and a slight paunch, otherwise he looked like he kept himself in good shape.

  "A yellow house?"

  "That's right."

  "Did you get the boy's last name?"

  "I asked, but he didn't answer."

  "I'll take a ride over there," Bose said. "You want to come along?"

  "I haven't even signed in yet."

  "You can take care of that later."

  They both turned as a man in plain clothes approached them.

  "Cap?"

  Bose studied the man for a moment, then said, "Haywood?"

  "That's right, sir," the man said, "Detective Haywood."

  Haywood was a well-dressed black man, light-skinned and very handsome, probably in his late thirties.

  "Joe Keough, Haywood," Keough said, extending his hand.

  "Anthony," Haywood said, shaking hands. "What's up?"

  "A small boy…" Keough started, running it down for him. He would later find out that Anthony Haywood was one of the newly promoted detectives.

  "There's a woman in there with him now," Keough said, "Joyce… something."

  "I know Joyce."

  "Good," Keough said. "Stay in there with her and the boy. One of the men is bringing fresh pajamas for him. When you get them you can take off the bloody ones and bag them." Keough looked at Captain Bose. "What do we do for lab boys around here?"

  "Request them from county."

  "Can we do that?"

  "Sure," Bose said. "I'll take care of it once we get in the car." Bose looked at Haywood. "We're going to try to find that house. Stay with the boy, as Keough said."

  "Yes, sir."

  "When the lab gets here give them the boy's pajamas, and have them look at the bloody footprints in the foyer."

  "Yes, sir."

  "And get some men on this street to canvass the area," Keough said. "Somebody had to have seen the boy being dropped off."

  "Got it."

  "Come on," Bose said to Keough, and they both left the station and went to the captain's car, where his driver was waiting for them.

  "This is Officer Bennett, my driver," Bose said as he got in the front seat and Keough got in the back. "Bennett, meet Detective Keough."

  "The new guy? From New York?"

  "That's right," Keough said.

  "Welcome to St. Louis."

  Bennett looked like an experienced man. He was in his forties with some gray at the temples of his dark hair, and from his position in the front seat of the car he looked beefy.

  "Where we goin', Cap?"

  "We've got to find a yellow house on Wise Street."

  Bennett frowned.

  "I know of a couple," he said, finally. "Just hold on."

  As Bennett started the car, Bose picked up the radio and requested the lab boys Keough wanted.

  Keough was unfamiliar with the area except for the fact that it was supposed to be fairly affluent. Big Bend Boulevard itself did not look like much, but when Bennett turned down the street they wanted he saw the large homes.

  "There's a yellow one," Bennett said, slowing down.

  "Not that one," Keough said.

  "Why not?" Bose asked.

  "It's too big," Keough said. "I just don't think that boy came from that home. His PJs weren't expensive enough."

  "The other one is further down," Bennett said, "where the homes aren't quite as big."

  "Let's check that one first, then," Keough said.

  "Do it," Bose said to Bennett.

  "Yes, sir."

  They drove down another block and a half and then Keough saw the house. This one seemed more appropriate. It was a well-kept home, clean and manicured, but not as ostentatious as the first one.

  "This looks more like it."

  Bennett pulled the car in front, staying off the driveway at Keough's request.

  "I want to check it for blood," he explained, as they got out.

  The three men walked the driveway, studying it for any sign of blood.

  "I don't see any," Bose said.

  As they approached the front of the house Keough said, "Officer Bennett, why don't you go around the back?"

  "What am I looking for?"

  "Blood on the outside," Keough said, "or a way in."

  "Gotcha."

  As Bennett broke off and went around the house, Keough and Captain Bose approached the front door.

  "Shit," Keough said.

  "What?" Bose asked.

  Keough nodded at the door. The captain looked and saw the same thing he had-there was blood on the doorknob.

  "Dis muz be da pla
ce," Bose said.

  4

  "How do we get the door open without touching the knob?" Bose asked.

  "We probably don't," Keough said, "but let's try." He put one elbow against the door and pushed, but it did not give.

  "Too much to ask for," he muttered. He put his hand in his pocket and came out with a knife with a three-inch blade. "You're not seeing this, Cap."

  He jammed the blade between the door and the door jamb and popped the door open. He put the knife away.

  "Not much of a lock for this neighborhood."

  "Some people just don't think trouble will ever find them," Bose commented.

  "These people were apparently pretty damn wrong, weren't they?"

  "Apparently."

  Keough nudged the door open with his toe and entered the house, Bose close behind him. As soon as they entered they saw blood on the hall carpet, and on the walls.

  "Jesus," Bose said, "you can even smell it."

  "Yeah," Keough said, wrinkling his nose against the coppery scent, "there's a lot of it. Cap, can I ask you to go back outside and call for some more lab boys? We're going to need them here."

  "All right."

  "Also, get your driver from around back. We don't need him busting in."

  "Okay. What are you going to do?"

  "I'm being paid to detect," Keough said. "Why don't I?"

  ***

  While Captain Bose was outside, Keough took a walk through the house. He wanted to run through it one time casually before he started looking in earnest for something. Besides that he really couldn't look as closely as he might have wanted to. He didn't have any gloves or plastic bags to put on his hands to protect the evidence.

  There was blood in the living room and down a hallway leading to the master bedroom. In the bedroom there was a lot of blood on the bed. Someone had been attacked while in the bed, then had probably run down the hall to the living room and into the entry foyer. There, judging by the amount of blood, they must have been attacked again.

  Some framed photographs were on a mantel in the living room. One of them was of the boy, Brady. He was a few months younger, but recognizable. People always took pictures of their small children every month, and then every few months until they got older. The photo of Brady told him he was definitely in the right house. Later he'd remove the photos from their frames to see where they were taken.

  There were no other photos of children, just two adults, apparently Brady's mother and father. The mother was very pretty, with blond hair and blue eyes and-if the photo wasn't touched up-great skin. The father looked slightly overweight, with brown, thinning hair and a handsome, boyish face. They both seemed to be in their early thirties.

  He found Brady's room. No blood there, but small red footprints in the hall led from the master bedroom to the living room. Brady had either been in the room during what happened, or immediately after. Keough wondered if the boy had seen what happened. He was not used to dealing with children this young. The unfocused look he had seen Brady's face could have been normal for a three-year-old, or-as he had thought fleetingly earlier-could have been the result of some drug. Now he was thinking that maybe the boy was in shock, but that would be for a doctor to say.

  "Keough?" Bose's voice called out.

  "I'm in the master bedroom," he called back. "I'm coming out." He didn't want Bose compromising the scene.

  As he came into the living room Bose asked, "Anything back there I should see?"

  Keough picked his way across the bedroom, avoiding the bloody trail. He noticed that Bose was standing in a dry spot in the foyer.

  "Blood," he said, reaching the man, "lots of it in the master bedroom, and on the bed."

  "Are we in the right house?"

  Keough nodded. "Photos on the mantel confirm that."

  "What about the boy's room?"

  "No blood, but he was in the master bedroom. His tracks lead from there to the living room."

  Both men looked down at the floor of the foyer.

  "It doesn't look like he got this far, though," Keough said.

  "Poor kid," Bose said. "I wonder what he saw?"

  "I wonder if he'll be able to tell us what he saw."

  Bose shrugged. Keough looked at his watch.

  "How long does it take for a lab crew to show up?"

  "I don't know," Bose said. "To tell you the truth I haven't ever had to deal with a homicide scene before."

  "You've been lucky."

  "Up until now," Bose said.

  "Yeah."

  "I guess I'll leave you alone in here to do your job," Bose said. "I'll go outside and wait for the crew."

  "Is there a grocery store nearby?"

  "There's a Schnuck's not far from here."

  "Would you send your driver over there to get me a box of sandwich bags?"

  "Sandwich bags?"

  "Yes, the little plastic bags for-"

  "I know what they are," Bose said, without rancor. "What are you going to do with them?"

  Keough held up his hands and wiggled his fingers.

  "Of course," Bose said. "I'll send him right away."

  "Tell him to get the cheapest he can find," Keough said. "The expensive ones will be too thick."

  "Right."

  "Also, we might need a car or two here when people realize it's a crime scene."

  Bose nodded. "I'll request some help from Maple-wood."

  "Good," Keough said, and Bose walked gingerly to the door, avoiding the blood, and went outside.

  Keough knew that Maplewood was one of the adjoining municipalities. He still had trouble thinking of these places-Maplewood, Clayton, Brentwood, Ladue, Richmond Heights, and others-as cities, with their own fire and police departments, and their own mayors. In New York the individual boroughs-Brooklyn, Manhattan, Queens, Bronx, and Staten Island-have their own borough presidents, but there was only one mayor, one fire department, and one police department.

  There was going to be an awful lot to get used to here.

  5

  Officer Bennett arrived with the sandwich bags and Keough started to look around in earnest. If what Bose said was true he'd have plenty of time before a lab crew arrived.

  He started in the living room, this time picking up the framed photographs from the mantel and examining them. He noticed that one of the frames with Brady's photo had a smudge of blood on it. He hoped the lab would be able to get a print from it. He set it aside to point out to them.

  He studied the blood on the floor of the living room. Some of it came from tracks, and it looked to him like three sets. Brady's were easy to make out. Another set were bare feet, small adult prints, probably a woman. Brady's mother? The third set were a man's shoes. Could have been Brady's father, but it could have been another man. The bare feet had to be his mother. What other woman would be barefoot in the master bedroom?

  He placed his foot next to one of the man's prints. They were about his size, which meant the man was average.

  Next he went to the kitchen. There was no blood here, but one drawer was open. He walked over to it and found that it was the silverware drawer. There were the usual forks, spoons, and knives in a rubber holder. Next to the holder were a couple of larger knives with black handles and serrated edges, one larger than the other. He wondered if there was a third lying somewhere with blood on it? Or did the doer bring his own knife?

  On the counter he found steak knives in a holder. They were the kind with holes through the handles so that they'd hang. There were eight slots, and each slot had a knife. None were missing. He lifted each knife out to examine it for blood, but they were all clean-at least as far as the naked eye could see.

  He looked at the phone hanging on the wall, took it off and gave a listen. When he heard the dial tone, he replaced it. There was no blood on the phone. He went to the kitchen door and found it locked. Also no blood on it. There was no sign that the kitchen had been involved in the action.

  He left the kitchen and stopped in
the dining room. No blood on the floor, or on the table or chairs. The woman had obviously run straight from the bedroom to the living room and tried to get out the front door. The doer caught her there. Keough wasn't thinking of him as a killer yet, but he didn't think it would be long.

  He walked down the hall to Brady's room and stepped inside. The wallpaper was decorated with characters he didn't recognize. The sheets on the bed featured Power Rangers. He studied the bed and floor intently, but they were clean. Brady had not returned to the room after stepping in the blood.

  He left Brady's room and before going to the master bedroom checked out the third room, probably a guest room. The bed was neatly made. There was a dresser, but the drawers were all empty. It didn't look as if anyone had been in that room for some time.

  He left and went down the hall to the master bedroom. He was going to spend the most time here, and come away with some sort of sequence of events constructed in his head.

  The bed was queen-sized. There was a dresser with a mirror, and a chest of drawers. Also a night table on each side of the bed, each with its own lamp. There was a phone on one of them, the one to the right.

  The bed was soaked with blood, more on the right side than the left, as he faced it. He went around to the right and saw that the floor was also soaked. The floor on the left side was clean. Barefoot tracks led from the blood on the right side to the door, and into the hall.

  Brady's mother had been in bed, lying on the right side, when someone-Brady's father?-attacked her with a knife. Badly hurt, bleeding profusely, she nevertheless had the strength to bolt from the bed and into the hall, still bleeding badly. She bled enough that the attacker had stepped in it and left tracks of his own.

  Instead of following the tracks he continued to look around the room. He looked in the drawers of both the dresser and a chest of drawers. The dresser was the mother's, while the chest was the father's. This was pretty traditional.

  A look in the night table on the right confirmed what he'd thought, that Brady's mother slept on that side. He had to step carefully to avoid the blood while getting the drawers open. He noticed that there was a vibrator in the bottom drawer. He picked it up and turned it on. From the way it ran he figured the battery power was still high.